War and The Home Front
by ENester
Summary: Complete! The war through the eyes of the Hogan family.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Hogan's Heroes isn't mine, I'm sorry to say.

Note: In this story, I'm going to attempt to protray the ongoing relations between Hogan and his family during the war. This is a work-in-progress, so stay with me. Reviews are always welcomed at appreciated!

**

* * *

**

**August 16, 1940  
The Hogan Home, Indianapolis, Indiana**

Robert Hogan ran his hand over the dusty headboard he had slept beneath for 26 years. He'd never given it much thought before, but now, as he stared at the active duty assignment lying next to him on the bed, it suddenly occurred to him that he might never sleep beneath this headboard again. Odd, the things that you think of at times like these; it wasn't that he really cared about the headboard, it was just the fact that he might not see it again that disturbed him.

"Rob?" The voice of his mother, Regina Hogan, echoed up from the floor below, shattering his daydream. "Rob! We're ready to leave!"

With a slight sigh that betrayed his melancholy mood, Hogan blew the dust of his fingertips, collected his duty notice and bags, and closed the door on his room for a final time. Despite the bustle of his family preparing to see him off, the house seemed quiet and empty, like it too was biding him farewell. Little things jumped out at him: there was the dent in the wall where his older brother Greg had broken his ankle, the crooked hanging door into his sister Emma's room leftover from a wild game of cowboys and Indians, his eyes spotted an open can of shaving cream in the bathroom, and he remember the shaving lessons he had received from his big brother…

The activities of his family ceased as Robert descended the stairs, all staring at him with a mix of emotions displayed on their faces. He felt their eyes follow his progress across the living room to place his remaining bags with the other, and he grew tense and wary. This wasn't the first time he had left home; how come leaving for college hadn't felt like this? _Because the death rate is considerably higher in a war than at college, that's why. _

For a moment, he considered his destination. As a Major in the US Army Air Corps, he, along with hundreds of others, was volunteering to help defend Great Britain from advance of German forces from the sky. The idea had filled him with adrenaline at first, to take his beloved B-17 out into combat, a real test to his mastery of the sky. But in accepting, Robert hadn't counted on this painful prolonged separation from his family, nor had he really considered the idea that he wouldn't be returning a hero. _Until I saw it on my father's face when I showed him my orders. Until I heard Mother cry over it through the walls last night. _

"Are you ready, son?" his father, Rodger Hogan asked, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. And as Robert met his father's eyes, he knew that Rodger wasn't just referring to his suitcases.

Was he ready? Was he ready to fly into death and destruction, to order others to their death, to be the direct cause of the death of other soldiers just like him except they were born in Germany? Could anyone be ready for that, or was it something you just…accepted?

"I think so."

Rodger nodded grimly and offered his arm to Regina and began his walk to the car. "Then we are ready also."

* * *

**Army Base  
Indianapolis, Indiana **

_I will not get emotional._ Regina Hogan told herself and she watched her middle child embrace Emma. It was just so hard! She could feel the tears welling up. _I will not cry. I need to be supportive._

How could the rest of the family be so calm? Didn't they realize that Robert could die in England, that they could never see him again? Regina knew she was being selfish-after all, there were hundred of other mothers saying goodbye to their son, committing themselves to the comforting fact that their son was safe and in good hands.

Robert gave his sister a final embrace, kissing her on the forehead. Emma took a deep breath to control herself as her brother left her, but she kept her emotions firmly in check. _When did she get so strong? _ Regina wondered. All she had to do was close her eyes, and she could see Emma running to her for comfort after suffering another prank from her brothers, tears running down her face. There was no trace of those tears now.

Her oldest, Greg reached out to shake offer Robert final words and a last embrace. He, at least, took a career as a doctor, and away from the military. For now, Greg was safe. But if the United States ever got sucked into this dreadful war in Europe, he too, might join the fighting by virtue of the draft. Regina shuddered at the thought. The war would end much too early for that.

"Dad?" Robert said quietly to her husband. Rodger offered him a small smile and the too embraced for a long moment, gravitating towards the fact that this would be the last physical contact they would have for quite some time.

And then it was her turn, and as Regina took her son in her arms, she felt some of the strength she had been marveling at in the others. This was the final moment, mother to son, between her and Robert, and she wouldn't spoil that in tears. "Be brave, my son," she whispered softly. "Stay safe and do what's right. I have every faith in you- I love you so much-"

"I love you too, Mom," Robert replied, smoothly covering her breaking voice. "Try not to worry too much."

She sniffed a little bit, a smile coming to her face despite her raging emotions. "I'm going to miss you around here."

Robert embraced her a final time and then picked up his bags and walked down the dusty dirt road that led towards the base that was to soon fly him off to England.


	2. Chapter 2

**August 23, 1940  
Royal Air Force Base  
Bristol, England**

Robert decided that he didn't like England very much. The balmy weather ate at him from inside, and as he sat staring out the window of the little room he called his own at the Bristol Air Base. He had thought that after living through Indiana winters he had become accustomed to days on end without seeing the sun. But in Indiana, the weather was nice, just not sunny, while here, it was rainy, damp, and depressing. _Especially for someone who is in a strange land, surrounded by strange people, and fighting a strange war._

His first days had passed in a haze that seemed to match the weather outside. There had been introductions, meetings, tactic lessons, flight lessons in the slightly altered British versions of the B-17, and more of the same. He had put everything he had into being prepared for his first mission, tonight, but, upon reflection, it seemed as though he couldn't recall much of anything.

6:18. Two hours until take off time. Robert glanced at the neatly copied flight plan Colonel Preston had given to him and the three other squad leaders involved in the raid of the Nuremberg tank factory tonight. He should be preparing, he knew, but every time he looked over the plans the knots had grown tighter in his stomach and the words on the page went no further than his eyes. Biting his lip, he wondered if the other commanders felt this way before every mission. Because if they did, Robert would seriously consider quitting the army.

"Major Hogan?" asked a British voice, from outside the door. Robert guiltily wondered if he had been so lost in thought that he had missed the knock.

"Enter." _I must be strong. I am here to lead these men and for that to happen, they must trust and respect me. _Robert sat up a little straighter as he watched a young private, barely eighteen, nervously enter the room. As he watched the private offer a tenuous salute, Robert wondered how he could possibly even consider to lead this kid, and others like him, towards death. _Not death, freedom from tyranny. A noble scarf ice to stop Hitler and all of his kind. _ Robert remembered this from his officer's training back in the States. _Yeah. Tell that to the man who's dead. Tell that to his grieving family, his lonely sweetheart. _

Robert smiled politely at the messenger. "What is it, private?"

"Colonel Preston requests you in the hanger, sir, for last minute preparation for tonight's mission." The young man stared at the floor as he said this, as though unwilling to meet Robert's eyes.

"Thank you," Robert said gently. "Tell him I shall be with him shortly."

The private nodded and headed towards the door. It wasn't until he was gone and Robert was gathering his things that he realized he hadn't even gotten the man's name. Strike one against becoming a great commanding officer.

* * *

**Two Hours Later **

There was something about the sky that calmed Robert. He had been as nervous as hell until the moment he boarded the plane and took off from the ground, to join the flock of planes circling the air base. And as he ran his fingers of the familiar controls, everything just sort of felt right.

"Ready, Hiltz?" Robert said to his copilot as the last of the planes became airborne. Sergeant Something Hiltz flashed him a quick smile and continued to focus on his work. Robert had the distinct feeling that the Sergeant knew much more about what was going to take place then he did, despite the fact that Hiltz had attended very few of the planning sessions for this meeting. 

Three squads were out tonight- Robert's own to the factory in Nuremberg, Captain Something-or-Other's to a railway line near Stuttgart, and Colonel Preston's squad to strike near Oldenburg. They each consisted of five planes, and nearly half of the fliers were rookies, including one Major Robert Hogan.

Sergeant Hiltz and Robert flew in silence across the English Channel, each focusing on the mission that lay ahead of them. Alongside each them flew four other bombers, and in the far east, he could still make out the backside of the Colonel's squad. _I'm on my own. _Robert thought nervously. _These five planes and all their men are in my hands. _

And quite suddenly, he felt in control. It was as if that was all he had been waiting for: the final responsibility, that final sense of aloneness. As they approached the factory, Robert issued commands to his men to get into attacking formation as if he barked them every day.

The bright lights of the city came within view. Robert's squad aimed to the west and Hiltz spotted the factory. Taking a deep breath, Robert urged his plane into the fast dive that signaled the beginning of the air raid. In a sort of disconnected way, he watched as his squad reduced the tank factory into rumble.

From his vantage point, Robert could hear the air raid sirens and the chaos of people below him. Obviously the attack had gone off as planned and the Germans had not been prepared. Robert knew that soon, however, the Germans everywhere would be ready for allied retaliation and his missions might not be as successful as tonight's.

They were the first squad to return to Bristol that evening. Robert congratulated his men on a job well done, accepted the congratulations of others that had stayed behind, and then, when he was alone in his room, became violently sick. _The first one's the hardest, _he thought encouragingly. _It's all downhill from here._ If only that were true.


	3. Chapter 3

**December 09, 1941  
Royal Air Force Base  
Bristol, England**

The base was in an uproar, and Robert found it hard to believe that anyone had slept in the past 48 hours. Even secluded in his own room, he could feel the commotion reverberate off the walls. Every few minutes hurried footsteps would rush past, in a hurry to get somewhere. It didn't really matter where, they were just in a hurry.

Robert reached up and pulled his suitcase from the shelf in the back of his closet. Halfway back to the table where he had begun packing, the latch sprung and the dozens of letters he had stored there in the past year and a half tumbled out unto the floor.

_Scattered-like the bodies of my countrymen in the Pacific two days ago. Like the pieces of the first plane shot down from his squad. Like the tears that had spattered the letter he had drafted three times to the families of those dead in the crash. Like the –_

Robert cut himself off. That train of thought might lead many places, but none of them were good. After that first crash he had learned to keep his emotions on a tighter leash, because if he didn't, he was sure he would be crazy by now. The pain and horror was still as great as that on his first mission, just removed to a storage place in his mind, waiting until he had time to deal with it.

The piles of letters grew until Robert had them neatly stacked. He replaced them in the corner of the suitcase. He placed his parents' letters in first- 17 from them, followed by Emma's, with 13 and Greg's with 9. Most of them were memorized word for word now. The rest, an assorted few from close friends and neighbors, he slipped in another slot, noting the difference in crispness between the too piles.

His uniforms went in next, still the same US Air Corps style, even though his comrades gave him no rest about it. _My comrades won't notice tomorrow. _With the attack on Pearl Harbor, many flight volunteers stationed in England were recalled back to fill American ranks, and Robert's name had been in the mix. _Just when a guys starting to get to know a place, _he thought a little bitterly.

Clothing complete, he ran over a checklist in his head, moving items from their locations to the bags. As he stacked up his photographs, he felt a slight twinge of regret. His desk looked so sparse without them.

The door flung open unexpectedly, and Robert was barraged by the noise outside, and by a heavily breathing young man.

"Yes, Corporal Jetley?" Robert asked with a smile, waiting for the man to catch his breath. As he did so, he thought that it was fitting that Jetley should see him out, just as he had seen him in at Robert's arrival.

"I-caught you- thank God!" Jetley stuttered. He took a great gasp of air and controlled his breathing slightly. "Your not to-leave."

Robert blinked. "What?" A bubble of hope rose within him. Perhaps he could stay after all.

Jetley held up his finger for silence. "Colonel Preston's plane was shot down over Hamburg a few hours ago."

The world spun a little bit. Images of Colonel Preston blotted up in his mind. And in every one, he saw a laughing, fun loving, English gentlemen. Robert couldn't see him lying still and cold, or worse almost, captured by Germans.

"Is that all?" he asked dully. _Control, Robert, _he thought, _it's all about control._

Shaking his head, Jetley continued. "General Bevin's here, and he's asked to see you. Your transfer orders are herby postponed."

_Well, that's something. _"I'll be down in a minute. Thanks, Jetley."

**

* * *

**

**In Colonel Preston's Office**

"You wished to see me, sir?" Robert asked, after saluting General Bevin sharply. They were in Colonel Preston's old office, still adorned with maps of Europe and photographs of his horses. Upon entering, Robert had swallowed hard to keep his emotions in check. So many memories had been made in this office. It was hard to stand inside and know that Preston was never coming back.

"Major Hogan," Bevin began, "please sit down. We have much to talk about."

Robert raised an eyebrow, but complied. He folded his hands in his lap, awaiting Bevin's proclamation.

"Just here a bit beyond a year, and you have incredible records. Colonel Preston spoke very highly of you."

_What was this about? _Robert nodded, a bit flattered, but altogether confused. "Thank you, sir."

Bevin continued, "You have been transferred back to the States after the Pearl Harbor tragedy , were you not?" And then without waiting for an answer, he barreled on. "I have been on the phone with your commanding officer in the Air Corps, and we have come to the agreement that your services are more useful here. Consider your transfer indefinitely postponed."

"But, sir- " Robert interjected, shocked.

Bevin held up his hand for silence. "Your continued service is very much appreciated by the Crown. Congratulations, Colonel Hogan."

It was all happening way to fast for Robert to comprehend everything. First Pearl Harbor, then the transfer, then Preston, and now-this? Robert felt himself shake the General's hand and accept the position, but had no memory of deciding to do it. _I wonder if this is what it means to go crazy? Because if it does, I'm there."_

**

* * *

**

**Robert's Quarters**

Dear Mom, Dad, Greg, and Emma,

I guess I won't be having the week's leave back in the States after all. I guess I won't be going to the States at all. Everything's happened so fast, that I'm in shock. The base is in an uproar since the attack on Pearl Harbor- I can only imagine how things are out in Hawii.

On top of that confusion, Colonel Preston was shot down last night. Guess who's replacing him? Yours truly, the one and only Colonel Hogan. It felt so wrong, when I took command of the 504th, like I was intruding or somehow making his death/captivity all the more final. Pains of war, I suppose.

I continue to miss you in these troubled times. You are in my thoughts always.

Love,

Robert

**

* * *

**

**December 16th, 1941  
Hogan Home, Indanapolis, IN **

Emma Hogan clutched her brother's letter to her chest and tried to keep her sorrow down. She had counted so much on Robert being home for Chistmas this year. She and Greg had even been planning some festivities in his honor. All the plans ruined by this dreadful war. Barely a week after her country joined, while the rest of the nation was full of revenge, Emma only wished for it to be over.

She folded the letter in the top drawer of the bureau, and went to make a copy of it for Greg to keep._ Next year, _she thought hopefully, _next year._

* * *

A/N: Some facts here not historically accurate. I'd appreciate you overlooking those details until I get a chance to look them up. Thanks and keep up the reviews! 


	4. Chapter 4

**December 24, 1941  
Royal Air Force Base  
Bristol, England**

"_Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
Make your heart be light  
From now on your troubles will be out of sight."_

"So that's the plan, fellows, got it?" Corporal Michael Jetley said. He stood next to the serving line of the mess hall, addressing a small committee of men gathered in front of him.

From the front of the gathered group, a fellow Corporal, Peter Newkirk, raised a hand. Michael sighed. Newkirk _always _had a question, usually trying to find loopholes in rules so that he might scrape through the time since he had been drafted a little bit easier. Michael hadn't a clue how he had been promoted. He was sure that he would let Newkirk come within a ten foot radius of the corporal's insignia. "Yes, Corporal?"

The man, with an accent that clearly spelled East End London, or, to Michael, shady looked slightly affronted at the attitude in which he was being addressed. "Well, I understand what I'll to do-"

"What _are _you going to do, Newkirk?" Michael interjected a little rudely, just to make sure that he did have it down after all.

Newkirk shot him a very affected look. "I'm to go tell the Colonel there's an emergency down in the kitchen. Sink won't turn off, or the like. And then I'm going to stay with him until he ruddy well does come down!"

Michael sighed in relief. Perhaps there was hope after all.

"But what I don't understand is why we're doing this. It doesn't make sense to me."

_Well, it wouldn't,_ Michael thought. _You don't know Colonel Hogan like I do. _"It's because of last year's leave, it's his first Christmas alone, in a foreign country, hundreds of miles from your loved ones, in the command of a man who's fate is still uncertain, a man who he respected and liked-"

Michael got the distinct impression that he was blabbering and stopped. "What I'm trying to say is that he's the best commander we've had. He cares about us, supported us when we need it, offers advice if we ask- everything you want in a commander. But that commander needs some support right now, and the men need some morale boosting and this is a way to, what's the expression? Kill two birds with one stone."

Peter Newkirk remained silent. No one else moved. "All right, men," Michael said loudly, shattering the mounting tension. "Places, let's go."

**

* * *

**

**Colonel Hogan's Quarters**

Robert stared at the mounting pile of paperwork on his death. It was morally wrong, he had decided two hours ago, for a man to have paperwork to do on Christmas Eve. It didn't even sound right. Yet the war wouldn't notice if the God Himself showed up on Hitler's back door and told him he was a maniac.

He recalled last Christmas, surprising his family by getting a week's leave and arriving home early afternoon, Christmas Eve. It was a memory that he pulled out whenever he got discouraged, just to keep him going. Today, however, it just made him more depressed.

Pulling out a document at random, Hogan scanned the contents, "Approval of Food Shipment for Week of January 3rd", and applied his signature. Even though he understand why, he briefly wondered why it was necessary for him to approve everything. Couldn't anybody make any decision on their own theses days.

There was a knock on his door. "Enter," Robert said, eager for the distraction.

A young Corporal, someone who's name Robert couldn't quite recall stood at the doorway wearing a wet kitchen apron over his uniform, looking rather distraught. "Corporal Peter Newkirk, sir," he said, saluting sharply. Robert returned the salute and waited patiently. He noticed that around officers, some commissioned men became all tongue tied, and realized that it might take a moment for Newkirk's message to be delivered.

"I hate to bother you sir, but, you see sir, I was working kitchen duty, and well, the sink didn't work quite well as I expected, sir. To say the least, sir, the kitchen is slightly damp- about up to your ankles in water in the worst places, and well sir, the men aren't too happy about a wet Christmas Eve dinner. So I was wondering, sir, -"

Glad to be relieved of the paperwork, Robert rose and cut the young Corporal off. "Of course. Show me the way, Newkirk."

Although not anticipating breaking up pandemonium in the kitchen, Robert felt a slight beat in his stride as he approached the mess hall. Anything to keep his mind off of recent affairs. Anything at all.

Robert froze at the doorway to the mess hall. There was no sight of an exploding sink, instead, the mess hall betrayed every sign of peace and reverence. The lights were dim, and the room was lit by candles scattered throughout the room. In the center, the men had dug up a scrawny fir from somewhere and decorated it with bright, mutli-colored lights. And although it was far from the elegant trees the Hogan family had boasted, Robert couldn't think of anything more beautiful.

The men had fallen still and silent at Robert's approach. Suddenly aware of all the eyes on him, Robert entered the mess hall towards the table that was obviously set for him. He made a little speech, but he wasn't really sure what he said. All he could do was concentrate on not letting the tears welling up in his eyes tumble down his face. This would be the Christmas to remember.

**

* * *

**

**December 24, 1941  
Hogan Family Home  
Indianapolis, Indiana**

It was strange, Greg thought, as he set the long Hogan family with his sister Emma for 10 instead of 14, how things come back to you at Christmas time.

There was the Christmas when he was 8. He and his cousin Jason had quarreled over who would open the first Christmas present. It was eventually decided that they would both wait until last, and open them at the same time. Greg didn't think he had spoken to Jason civilly for nearly a week. But after that, they had made up during the Hogan family traditional snowball fight, and all was forgotten. However, as they began to open presents again next year, it all came rushing back, and both of them had strategically avoided the other all evening.

Now, he remembered last Christmas at this time, how the family had been overjoyed at Robert's return from England and it seemed as though a better Christmas couldn't exist. And this year, it seemed as though he couldn't remember a worse one. It wasn't just the first Christmas without Robert, which in itself, was hard, but it was also the first Christmas without Jason, his Uncle Will and his Aunt Caroline. Will, too, had been drafted into the army, but his base was only a few hours away, in Chicago, so his aunt and cousin were traveling there to celebrate with him. The Hogan table would be very empty this year.

"Greg?" Emma's soft voice drifted over to him, shaking him out of his stupor. She had finished with the glasses and was waiting for him to lay the last napkins before she could move on to the silverware. Greg flushed slightly, a bit embarrassed. He hadn't realized he had been lost in thought so long.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

Greg smiled a little bit. "You always did know how to read me, didn't you? Well, I'm not going to lie, I was. But you can't stand there and tell me that you weren't."

Running her fingers through her chestnut hair, Emma replied, "Of course I was. We all are. But wars can't last forever, Greg. He'll be home next year."

They both slipped back into silence then, finishing the table and returning to the kitchen to help their mother with the dinner. A smaller amount of people didn't stop Regina Hogan from going all out. After all, it was Christmas.

_"Hang a shining star upon the highest bough  
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now. "_


	5. Chapter 5

**March 11, 1942  
Sky Above Hamburg  
_Goldilocks: _Col. Hogan's B-17**

Twenty minutes ago, Robert Hogan had been determined to change the bad luck that seemed to come with flying over Hamburg. Now, he wasn't quite so sure. It was as if the city itself had a grudge against him personally. First, Colonel Preston had been shot down and killed while raiding a munitions plant. Two months after Christmas, his dog tags had finally made their way to Allied High Command, which had caused Robert to become the permanent Commanding Officer of the 504th . This wasn't as bad as Robert had originally thought it to be. He had spent nearly two years working with the men, and together, they had turned the 504th into a deadly force.

And then there was the mission last month over Hamburg. Four planes and a full forty men had been shot down in a failed attempt to destroy a rocket factory. The results had dealt a devastatingly low blow to the morale of his men, resulting in the loss of the confidence that had driven them through so many close missions. Yet the factory still had to be destroyed, and so the Allied High Command had sent the 504th out over Hamburg for the 3rd time in four months.

"Colonel, on your left!" Copilot Corporal Peter Newkirk shouted out. Gripping the controls tightly, Robert swerved the German plane and it passed by overhead. After Newkirk's involvement in the Christmas ceremonies, Robert had taken a more personal interest in the young fellow and come to realize his extraordinary flying skills, despite the fact that he had an uncanny way abandoning military regulations. He now flew quite often as Robert's copilot, and, if he lived through tonight's raid, was in for a promotion.

_If. _That was the big question. The whole raid had been a sham to begin with. The squad had flown in to deposit the bombs, and found a whole German Flight Group waiting for them. Outnumbered, and caught off guard, the 504th stood little chance.

There was a flash of red to Robert's right. Sergeant Michael Jetley's plane had taken down one of the enemy planes. In his head, Robert cheered. _One down, a million more to go._

A German plane sped by, firing on something off of Robert's right wing. The Colonel hoped it wasn't Jetley's plane, but couldn't risk turning to look. Despair mounted inside of him as he saw just how vastly outnumbered they were. It would be a miracle if any of them came out alive.

"Corporal?" Robert asked Newkirk, shouting over the noise of his tailgunner opening fire on another plane.

Through gritted teeth, the Englishman responded, "Yes, Colonel?"

_Loyal to the end. _Robert thought distantly. _Despite his un-military manner, once he picks his side, he keeps them. _

Below, there was another explosion as a plane went down in a fiery crash. Robert prayed it wasn't one of his. Above the wreckage, he spotted a Nazi plane circling above. _Damn. Watch out, I'm coming for you. _He steered Goldilocks in the direction of the plane, determined to take it down.

"Newkirk, I'm going to be honest with you. We're probably going to go down tonight." Robert said this flatly. He needed to be calm and in control, even if it was all a façade.

The Englishman risked a look towards his pilot. Robert could see the fear in his eyes. Still, Newkirk responded light, "Actually, sir, I was thinking this was all going bloody well."

"Then let's give them everything old Goldilocks has in her, okay?" He said the last bit loud enough for the men working behind him to overhear. They knew just how serious their predicament was when Robert was suggesting a break from formation. Not that there was much formation left to break away from.

They had approached within firing range of the departing German plane. His gunners opened fire again and the enemy plane jerked at the impact. Robert grinned momentarily. The despair was leaving him. _His _squadron wasn't going to go down without a fight.

There was a jolt on the plane's left wing that sent the B-17 careening momentarily out of control. Robert struggled for a moment, but regained command of the plane. It didn't respond as well, but it still flew and fought, and at that point, it was all that mattered.

The fighting had lessened some- and below there were far two many planes on the ground. Robert could only spot two other Allied planes. _Damn._

Newkirk fired on another Nazi plane. It fell from its original path, but it was merely damaged, not destroyed. The remaining German planes were turning in Goldilock's direction.

And then there were two thuds on Goldilock's tail, followed by a third to the already crippled left wing. Robert felt the plane shudder violently and it suddenly stopped obeying his commands. Their altitude began to decrease rapidly.

Robert sprang from his seat and checked the straps on his parachute. He had done all that he could do tonight. Survival mode had clicked in. "Men!" he shouted to his crew. "We're jumping."

Without speaking, every man departed from their station and readied themselves. Despite the calm, Robert could see the fear in all their eyes.

"Remember, it's name, rank, and serial number. That's all," Robert said, his voice closing a little. He hoped that his men didn't catch it. He needed to be strong more than ever right now.

"I remember, sir," said the first jumper, a private who's name failed to come to Robert. They looked at each other for one last moment, trying to say a million words in that one last look. Another thud hit the front end of the abandoned plane that knocked them off their feet.

"Go!" Robert shouted and one by one they slid out of the open door, dropping into the dark sky. Robert took a steadying breath and then he, too, followed his crew into the nightmare that would become his life.

**

* * *

**

**March 13, 1942  
Hogan Family Home**

**Indianapolis, Indiana**

Emma sat on the front porch swing of the Hogan house, staring out across the lawn. It was late evening, and she could hear the radio echoing from living room. From the tone of the announcer, she assumed the program was discussing the war. It seemed to consume everyone's life these days. It wasn't that Emma didn't care about the war, after all, her brother was taking a very active part in it; it was just that sometimes she was so sick of hearing tragic stories that she just wanted to scream. Now was one of those moments.

She knew her boyfriend, Danny, would be wondering if she didn't return soon. They had met nearly nine months ago, before the war had gotten quite so serious, and he had been a perfect angel to her. He listened to her worries about the war, chiefly Robert's safety and the possibility that Greg or Danny might be drafted. When he had helped her through it, he would make her smile and not worry about such things for awhile.

The screen door creaked open. Emma turned to look, and it was Danny, appearing right on cue, as if he was reading her thoughts. Sometimes, she wondered if he really could.

"Hey, honey," Danny said softly, taking a seat on the swing beside her. "Why are you out here by yourself?"

Emma smiled a little sheepishly. "I just couldn't listen to them talk about the war anymore. I can't go through a single day without thinking about it anymore and I just couldn't take it."

Danny didn't say anything, but slipped his arm around her, and drew her close. Emma leaned into him, but continued staring across the lawn, trying to distance herself from the events surrounding her.

"Will the world ever be all right again?" She whispered.

"All right?" Danny repeated. "All right, yes. But the same, no. How can it, after all that has happened and all who have died?"

The sat in silence for a few moments, and Danny seemed to absorb her melancholy. Then he rose, and reached into his pocket.

"I was going to wait for a special moment for this," he told her, "but I think the moment is now."

And then he dropped to one knee in front of her. "Will you, Emma Hogan, do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Emma just stared at the tiny diamond ring he had pulled from his pocket for a moment. Was this really happening?

"Yes," she said softly. Then, as if just realizing what she had said, she shouted out into the night, "yes! Yes, yes, yes!"

Danny slipped the ring onto her finger and they embraced for a moment, all previous worries forgotten in their shared happiness.

There were footsteps on the porch. The rest of the family had been alerted by her shouting.

"What's going on?" Rodger asked, eyeing the young couple.

Emma broke away from Danny and smiled at her father. "Danny just asked me to marry him-"

"And she said yes!" Danny finished.

There was a shocked silence, and then Greg broke in, "Well what are we waiting for? Let's celebrate!"

Many toasts and several hours later found the Hogan family in an intense conversation over the future of the family. Danny was explaining, a little too loudly, his plan for opening a small Italian restaurant. Emma wasn't sure, but she thought it was the third time. She didn't mind; tonight was a night to celebrate, and as a matter of fact, she was feeling a little tipsy herself.

The doorbell rang, and everyone looked at each other for a moment, remembering the reality that had been suspended for a few hours. "I'll get it," Emma said and scooted away. Unfazed, Danny continued his story where he had left off.

She opened the door to reveal a cold looking young man in a mailman's uniform. "Yes?"

He didn't smile, but just held out a thin envelope. "Telegram."

Emma froze, all the nights jubilation leaving her in a rush. She had heard other women talking about these telegrams. "Dread telegrams," they called them. A telegram never meant good news.

She took it anyway. Maybe it wasn't as bad as she thought. "Thank you."

The young man nodded and left. Emma closed the door and opened the envelope. It was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Rodger Hogan in official looking font. Her heart sped up.

I regret to inform you that your son Colonel Robert E. Hogan, was shot down in during an air raid on March 11, 1942 and is currently listed Missing In Action. You will receive more information as it become available. Sincerely, General Edmond Bevin, Allied High Command

The telegram fluttered to the floor and Emma collapsed against the wall, her mind too confused and hurt to make a cogent thought.

"Emma?" Regina Hogan entered the hallway. "Who was at the door?"

Emma pointed at the floor where the telegram lay scattered. Regina's face went pale. "No."

A/N: I would like to add a big thank you to Syl for beta-reading this story. You've done wonders for the quality of this story.   



	6. Chapter 6

**March 12, 1942  
Somewhere Near Hamburg, Germany**

Robert didn't remember hitting the ground. He remembered the absolute terror he felt as he whipped through the sky, frantically waiting for his parachute to catch. He remembered the pain of shrapnel or some other debris from the colliding airplanes slamming into his shoulder- and then, everything was black.

He had landed in the woods, remarkably peaceful and lacking any signs of the battle that had taken place above him the night before. By some miracle, he had cleared the trees and landed in the middle of a small clearing. Either that, or he had gotten caught on a tree climb while still unconscious.

Glancing around, Robert could see nothing besides a solid screen of trees. It was a little disconcerting, for he wondered what had happened to his crew and his squadron. Had they cleared the trees? Were they looking for him? Had they been captured? Or was he the only one still alive?

_Stop wallowing in shock and pity_, Robert told himself. _Take stock, and see what you can do._ Obediently, Robert did as the soldier within him instructed, first feeling out his body for injuries. His shoulder spouted pain, which intensified at every movement. He thanked his stars that the blood had clotted and dried, although if the shrapnel were still inside him remained a mystery, one that Robert decided that he really didn't want to solve. Besides that he only suffered from some bruises and minor cuts. These were accompanied by a throbbing headache, which could be attributed to the blackout.

Tentatively, Robert sat up, swallowing the moans that involuntarily came, courtesy of his shoulder. But after a moment, the pain settled back to a dull roar, and Robert decided it was tolerable. He would live.

He was still sitting there, considering standing up and going after the rest of the downed airmen, when he became aware of the voices. There were several of them, and Robert caught a phrase or two that he recognized as German. Frantically, he looked about the little clearing, searching for a place to hide. There was some undergrowth that might serve, but it was several yards away. For a rash moment, he actually began to rise to his feet. Then reason returned with the realization that he'd make all the noise of a small elephant herd in getting there, which would successfully defeat the purpose of hiding. No, the best course of action was to lie low and hope that he was passed by.

Very slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, pressing his body into the earth. Every breath seemed to be amplified a hundred times, and he was positive his heartbeat was shaking the ground. _Thump-thump, inhale, thump-thump, exhale, thump-thump, inhale, thump-thump, exhale._

The footsteps moved closer, crunching undergrowth and last years dried leaves as they went. The conversations had ceased now, making Robert even more conscious of his breathing. Surely they would hear it and find him.

But, miraculously, they didn't. The footsteps began to curve away from him, and Robert closed his eyes in relief. At least all luck hadn't abandoned him.

As if his own thought had jinxed him, Robert opened his to discover the most damning evidence of his presence just above him: a partially ripped parachute hung from the trees above him. _I guess I did get caught in the tree after all,_ some distant part of his mind commented.

Moments after Robert spotted it, so did someone else: the tail end of the German patrol. There was an exclamation, and suddenly a loud chorus of voices surrounding him. His luck had run out.

Biting his tongue to keep the curse words inside, Robert felt inside his pockets for the Colt .45 semi-automatic he carried with him. It still lay in his pocket, undamaged. Quickly, he checked the magazine: three rounds left. He better make them count.

As expected, it took the patrol no more than thirty seconds to find him after the discovery of his parachute. Robert's searching eyes caught those of one of the soldiers and as the enemy turned to shout back to his fellows, Robert made his move. Ignoring his shoulder, he waited until the soldier moved into clear range, and fired.

The bullet hit the soldier hard in the stomach, and he collapsed, clutching it. All noise ceased, and Robert waited for the rest of the patrol to make their move. The ball was in their court now.

There was motion, and he could hear the soldiers moving around him. "Geben Sie sich auf. Sie sind umgeben!" came the barking voice of a squad leader. Although Robert couldn't understand the words, he got the meaning: he was surrounded.

There was more movement, and suddenly several men came at him from all sides. Robert managed to get both of his shots fired off before they were upon him; although only one managed to reach its target, the thigh of the man who appeared to be the squad leader.

As he was overpowered, the adrenaline fled his body, leaving Robert with the pain of his shoulder and the realization that he was alone and captured deep within enemy territory. Any help would have to come from him.

Handcuffs were snapped on his wrists, and Robert was roughly pulled to his feet. The sudden movement left him dizzy, and nausea welled up inside him. Uncaring at his condition, his captors led him foreword, away from the clearing and into the woods.

It took nearly ten minutes to reach their destination, a small checkpoint on a road that ran through the forest, but to Robert, it felt like several hours. They marched relentlessly, and with each step came another throb in his shoulder. Two minutes into the walk, he decided that the foreign object was still underneath his inflamed skin. How else could it hurt that much?

To his satisfaction, Robert wasn't the only one in pain. The first soldier that he had shot was unconscious and being carried by two others, and the sergeant limped along, emitting what sounded like a curse every few moments. Robert noticed that very often he was the target of those curses.

At the checkpoint, they halted the march and Robert sank down to the ground, grateful enough to stop walking that he didn't really care what lay in store for him.

**

* * *

**

** March 14, 1942  
Hogan Family Home  
Indianapolis, Indiana **

Rodger Hogan sat at his desk, thumbing through pictures. They were mostly older ones of his children growing up, but there were some recent ones in the mix. And in every one, the image of Robert, his middle child, jumped out at him. He always looked so vibrant, so full of life. How could it be possible that this child was lost somewhere in the middle of Germany? How could it be possible that he would never see Robert again?

A hand was placed upon his neck, and he looked up to see Regina standing over him. She pulled up a nearby chair, and sat down.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" she asked, not really needing to know the answer. It was written on his face. Rodger answered anyway.

"How could I not be?"

Regina looked away, and in that moment, Rodger could see the very pain that wracked mirrored in his wife. She pulled a stack of photos towards her and began looking at them, as he had been doing.

"You know, I keep telling myself that worrying won't do any good," Regina said after a few moments. "I tell myself that I should be focusing on the things I can do something about, like Emma and Danny's engagement. And I feel so guilty because I can't."

A sob welled up in her voice, but Rodger let her continue. "This engagement should be one of the happier times in our lives, Rodger," she whispered. "We should be laughing, and planning, and getting to know our future son-in-law. What cruel twist of fate did this to us?"

"It's war," Rodger said. "I remember the last war, the War to End All Wars. My older brother fought and died in the trenches in Europe. I remember how for a long time it seemed like betrayal to be happy. I remember how some people never got over their own family tragedies."

He leaned across the photograph-laden desk and took her hands in his. "I don't want to be one of those people, darling. I'm going to worry, grieve, and hope for Robert, but I'm going to live for the two children I still have at home. Our unhappiness does nothing for our son."

Regina nodded, but he could see the tears begin to roll down her face. "But it's so hard," she said, wiping her eyes. "It's so hard to not let it consume me."

"It isn't any easier for me," Rodger replied. "But we must be strong and we must lean on each other when we fall short."

He gathered Regina into his arms, and they embraced for a long moment, sharing the unendurable grief of a parent who has lost child. And as he sat holding her, Rodger realized that with Regina at his side, he could face anything, perhaps even the terrible news about his son.


	7. Chapter 7

**March 12, 1942**

**Somewhere Near Hamburg**

As it turned out, Robert only had five minutes to recover. A covered truck, splattered with mud and dust rolled down the road, shaking him out of his stupor. It stopped, about ten feet from him, and the driver spoke in very annoyed German to the squad leader.

A hand slapped Robert's face. Hard. He looked up and his eyes met with the icy blue ones of a German private. "What?" he shouted, exhausted, and at the end of his patience.

Another slap. This one stung. The private made motions with his hands, pointing to the truck.

"Well, why didn't you just say so?" Robert muttered under his breath as he mustered the strength to regain his feet. The world spun for a moment, and then he recovered his equilibrium and allowed himself to be led to the truck. Nothing could be gained by fighting now.

The private flipped the cover back to reveal a dozen or so prisoners huddled together, fear and anxiety showing on every face. Near the back, he caught a familiar face, that of his tail gunner, Corporal Michael Shelly. He looked scared and tired, but not hurt. That was something.

A shove, and Robert got the general impression he was supposed to join the rest of the prisoners in the truck. _Because that's what I am now,_ he thought, _a prisoner. _As a couple of guards hopped in the back, each of their guns trained expertly on the Allied soldiers, Robert tried to picture being a prisoner for the remainder of the war. Images failed to come to him. Escape would have to be found somewhere.

The engine of the truck roared to life and began to travel down the road to some unknown destination. Robert glanced back and met Shelly's eyes. The young corporal, no more then twenty, stared back, eyes full of trust and respect. Filled with guilt, Robert looked away. He no longer had the right to be on the receiving end of that trust. After all, it was solely his fault that Shelly was in Germany today.

Anxious to think of something else besides the fate of his squadron and his men, Robert turned his attention to the guards. Both looked on coldly, betraying nothing but contempt for their charges. If there were to be any escape, it wouldn't be under their eyes.

Resigned, Robert leaded against the wall as best as his restraints would allow and closed his eyes, hoping the nightmare would be over when he woke.

**

* * *

****Sometime Later**

The truck came to an abrupt halt, stirring Robert from his uneasy rest. The outside world was hidden from him, due to the heavy canvas, but something inside him told him that he didn't want to be where he was right now.

The rear panel of canvas was flipped open and a German officer, a Major came into view. Behind him all Robert could see was the tree-lined road from where they had come, echoing a serenity that seemed so contrary to his current situation.

"Welcome to the Dulag Luft," the Major said in stilted English. "It will be your home from now until- well, let us say until you have served your purposes. My name is Major Standholm, and I shall be directly overseeing you during your time here, under the illustrious Colonel Alder, of course."

He glanced around the truckload of prisoners one more time, and then turned on his heal and vanished out of sight. As soon as he was gone, action exploded everywhere. The two guards leaped from the truck and began motioning for the prisoners to follow suit. Someone grabbed Robert's injured shoulder as he climbed down, and his world exploded in pain again.

On the ground, Robert watched with hazy vision the rest of the prisoners being sorted into two groups: the NCOs, which consisted of all but three of the men, himself, a Captain, and a first Lieutenant.

"März!" a guard shouted, and the line of NCOs disappeared somewhere beyond Robert's vision. Somewhere above him, a gruff voice said, "This one's hurt. Take the other's inside." And then the world faded into blackness.

**

* * *

****March 15, 1942**

**Indianapolis General Hospital**

Everywhere, everyone was offering sympathy and Greg didn't think he could take it anymore. From the moment he had come back to his office to the moment he had stepped out to lunch, everyone was offering a shoulder to cry on, comforting words, or, even worse, horror stories.

"Oh, Dr. Hogan, I offer my deepest sympathies-"

"My father was captured in the last war, and I never saw him since, but that was by the Austrians, not the Germans-"

"Honey, if you or your family ever needs a favor, I'll be right here, just you remember that-"

"Dr. Hogan-" a feminine voice called from behind him, as he was heading out the door to find some solitude at the local diner.

"I'm fine, thank you," Greg said sharly, "I'm just leaving for a nice drive off a cliff. Really, your sympathy isn't necessary."

"Oh!"

Greg turned, and recognized one of the nurses that shared his floor, Anna, something or other. "I'm sorry, Anna," he said. "It's just that if I hear any more sympathy today, my head's going to explode."

She smiled, "I understand how you feel. It was the same when my mom passed away last year. The well wishers will stop in a few weeks, don't worry."

"Well, thank you."

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the door before Anna seemed to realize that she had hailed him for a reason other than a conversation about Robert.

"Dr. Hogan," Anna began, "before we got caught up in a conversation, I was meaning to tell you that your sister called this morning while you were in with Mrs. Thompson. She said that you needed to get back to her as soon as possible. She sounded upset."

Greg's heart leapt to his throat, the worst spinning in his mind. Had they received news about Robert already? Or was it something else, something worse?

"Dr. Hogan?" Anna put a hand on his arm, bringing him back to reality. "Do you want a ride home?"

He shook her off. "No, I'll be fine. Thank you." He left her on the corner and sped away towards home, wondering exactly what had made Emma so upset.

A/N: Again, thanks for everyone's continued reviews and patience with this story, and a huge thank you to Syl for beta- reading this chapter and more to come!


	8. Chapter 8

**Dulag Luft  
Date and Time…Unknown**

Robert awoke to darkness. He reached up to see if his eyes really were open, wondering momentarily if he had gone blind. Two inches in front of his face, his hand remained invisible and he put it down. The condition of his eyes would have to wait until he was sure he was in a place with light.

The floor Robert lay on was cold, and although he was covered with a thin blanket, it did little in the way of providing warmth. Sometime while he had been unconscious, his shoulder wound had been cleaned and bandaged. He felt it gingerly. It definitely still hurt, but it was not the consuming fire that it had been before. Robert took this as a good sign. They weren't going to kill him. Yet.

Cautiously, Robert stood up, relieved that the cell was high enough to allow that, and began to explore. One, two steps and his outstretched hand met a cold cement wall. Following the wall around, he counted the cell to be three steps by five steps. Small, but endurable. If only he had light, then he might be able to calm the nervous racing of his heart and ignore the intense rumblings of his stomach.

With a sigh, he slid down the wall into the corner. The silence was growing oppressive. To distract himself, he tried to remember other, better times. But every time that he began to get lost in the memory, he would find himself in a crashing plane, or watch his crew die or meet worse fates. Newkirk, Shelly, Lance, McLain…where were they now? Were they, like him, sitting in some dark cell, going slowly crazy from the silence and darkness, or were they already removed from this world?

Filled with thoughts like these, Robert finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.

**Later**

Had they forgotten about him? Was he going to sit and rot in this prison forever? Robert's mind was reeling. Somewhere, the part of his brain that still worked rationally told him that it had been nearly six days since he had woken. In that time, he had received twelve meals of bread, water, and once, a slice of cheese. He looked forward to these mealtimes because they meant light, a trip to the latrine, and a bit of human contact. It didn't really matter that this human contact came carrying guns and unfriendly German expressions.

Robert fingered the little crack that ran across the back wall of his cell. How many other prisoners had sat where he was now, fingering the same crack? Deciding that he didn't want to know the answer to that question, he pulled his hand away and closed his eyes.

There was a clank of chains outside the door. Robert looked up, startled. By his calculations, his next meal was hours off yet. Had they decided that he existed, after all?

The heavy door swung open and light flooded into the room. Robert rose to his feet, squinting as his eyes adjusted. Two guards stood there, one brandishing a gun and the other a pair of handcuffs. Lovely.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Robert allowed his arms to be shackled behind him. Wherever he was going, it wasn't going to be good, but he could hope that it would be better than this endless waiting. The muzzle of the second guard's gun poked him in the back, and Robert began the trek to whatever waited for him.

**Later Still**

"Hogan, Robert E, Colonel, 0876707." The last numbers stuck in Robert's throat. How often had he said it now?

Major Standholm stared back at him, his icy blue eyes drilling into Robert's. "You are not answering the question. What was the goal of the Hamburg air raid?"

Robert focalized on those horrid eyes, telling himself this could only go on for so much longer. They had been at this questioning for several hours now, and it was the third day of the process. The previous two days, Standholm had stopped after he ran through the extensive list of questions four times- but today they were on their seventh run. At least Robert wasn't receiving physical retribution for not answering. There's a silver lining in every cloud.

What Robert couldn't understand was the nature of the questioning. Why had they waited until any urgent information that Robert had was useless? What did a raid of some ten days ago matter to them? Still, he knew better than to answer, for perhaps the real goal in the interrogation was to make him respond, not the actual answers themselves.

"Why did Allied High Command put you, an American, in charge of an English raid?"

Question twenty-nine. They were getting close to the end of the list. Robert remained stoic, trying to ignore the throbbing pain from his too-tight handcuffs.

Finally, Standholm ranked his papers into a neat stack on the little desk that stood between them. Then, slowly, deliberately, he moved until his face was not more than six inches away from Robert, who tried not to cringe away.

"You haven't been very informative, Colonel," Standholm said nastily. "Your silence hasn't helped. We're still going to get that information, only now, it's not going to be nearly as pleasant for you." He turned sharply away and said something to the guards. Then, gaze on the prisoner, watched as Robert was led from the room.

* * *

**March 15, 1942  
Hogan Family Home  
Indianapolis, Indiana**

_It's happening again, _Regina Hogan thought, as she watched her oldest son pull up the driveway. The day was unusually bright and sunny for the middle of March, but for once, Regina didn't enjoy the break from the bleak grayness that usually hung over Indiana during midwinter. In fact, the sun felt falsely cheerful, as if its brightness was mocking her grief.

The car door slammed and Regina rose to meet her son.

"Mom!" Greg called, hurrying up the driveway. "What's going on?"

How could she tell him? How could she possibly tell him?

Regina forced herself to meet Greg's eyes calmly. "Come inside. We've had- there's been- there's something you need to see."

As she followed him into the living room, Regina couldn't help but be proud of her son. Despite everything that had happened, Greg managed to stay strong and in control. In fact, even Emma, only one in the family who really thought with the heart, was handling her emotions well.

Finally, there was no delaying it. They were seated on the couch, and Regina reached out and took her son's hand in her own. "It would seem that Uncle Sam needs you," she said, looking right into Greg's chocolate eyes.

She saw the horror right away and felt it echo inside herself. It was so unjust- hadn't this family given enough to the war? What else did they need to sacrifice?

"You mean," Greg whispered, "that I've been drafted?" Regina could see his world cracking and threatening to crumble.

"Yes and no. They don't want you as a soldier; they want you're services as a doctor." She reached over and pulled the letter from the stack on the table and handed it to him. "This explains everything."

That was the one consolation. Greg wasn't going as a soldier. Things wouldn't be quite as dangerous for a medic. A medic didn't get shot down while flying over German cities. A medic didn't wind up missing in action. A medic didn't…

Regina stopped her train of thought and instead focused on the interesting patterns of the rug. Beside her, Greg dropped the letter back until the coffee table, sighing.

"One thing I know," he said, "is that the war is somehow so much more real this week than it ever was before. And I've decided that I don't like it very much."

* * *

_A/N: Again, thanks for everyone's patience and encouraging reviews. I'm updating as fast as I can! ;)_  



	9. Chapter 9

**April 24, 1942  
Colditz Officer's Camp**

"…and I now place this man in your custody," the lieutenant from the Dulag Luft was saying. "Be warned that he's one of the most cunning officers we've processed during the war and I advise you to take all the precautions that I know you are capable of using." He spoke in English for Robert's benefit.

The prisoner stood motionless on the floor, not listening, not feeling, but simply waiting for events to fall as they might. Two escape attempts and countless interrogation sessions had taught him this painful lesson. For the past month Robert had stopped caring about the time elapsed in the Luftwaffe prisons. He'd distanced himself from his body and all his physical pains. If he hadn't, he doubted he'd be sane.

From Robert's vantage point, he dully watched the lieutenant converse with the colonel in charge of the new place. With mild surprise he realized he didn't really care what they were saying. What was one prison over another, if that were the case? Or, if it were his death of which they spoke, he could welcome it.

The officers exchanged salutes and the lieutenant left, leaving Robert alone in the stark office.

"Welcome to Colditz," the colonel said in stilted English. Robert didn't raise his eyes from the floor and acknowledge him.

"You might think that you have been fortunate to leave the Dulag Luft. Let me tell you now that this is not true. Every measure of security is taken, no exceptions. I don't expect to speak to you again for the entirety of your stay here- which will be the entirety of the war. Draw attention to yourself and you will suffer the consequences."

Dully, Robert noted that he wasn't going to be shot… interesting. Instead, he was to be a permanent POW at Colditz, a fortress he'd heard of even before being shot down. They said it took magic to escape, and the Kommandant was harsh and unforgiving. He was about to discover the truth of those words.

The colonel continued. "You will spend a week in solitary confinement before joining the rest of the prisoners." He raised his voice, "Guard!"

As two members of the guard seized Robert's shackled arms and led him away, he wondered just how much longer he was to be treated like a sack of potatoes.

**May 4, 1942  
Colditz Officer's Camp**

Robert woke up on the stiff hard bunk that had been his for the last ten days. It marked the end of his solitary confinement, and, as he stretched, he realized that he actually cared.

His time at Colditz thus far, if not pleasant, had been healing. There had been no interrogation sessions. The guards, if not friendly or chatty, didn't abuse him the way those at Dulag Luft had, and, for the first time in a long while, Robert was fairly certain of his future.

A key rattled in the lock, and a guard entered. Robert listened to the wave of German and stood, fairly certain of what the man wanted. There were ten marks on his bed frame. At last, he was going to be among other prisoners.

The barracks that housed the prisoners were not barracks in the traditional sense, considering that Colditz was a fortress rather than a compound. Instead, the prisoners were housed in large rooms with bunks lining the edge. The walk from Robert's solitary cell gave him an impression of the sheer size of the place. Before arriving at his new quarters, he passed by five floors, spotting a least a dozen rooms on each.

The guard pushed him into one of these. Robert counted eleven men scattered throughout the room, which consisted of a long table surrounded by fourteen bunks, and decorated by a few basic necessities. His guard exchanged a few German words with one of the occupants, a captain, before leaving.

After he had departed, a captain sitting on a bunk rolled off and moved towards Robert. The rest of the men returned to what they were doing. Robert stared. What was wrong with them?

"Captain Travis Nonamacher, RAF, sir," the man said with a salute. He wasn't a tall man, shorter than Robert, and he looked thin and tired.

"Colonel Robert Hogan, US Army Air Corps," Robert said, returning the salute sharply. It felt incredibly good to be in contact with someone other than Germans.

"I'm sure you've already heard the welcome speech from our beloved Kommandant, but I'd like to color it a little bit for you. What the Kommandant said is basically true. Colditz _is _nearly impossible to escape from. It's been done by a two or three, but by my reckoning, what happens when you get caught isn't worth the risk. But that's your decision to make, Colonel."

Nonamacher led Robert to a bunk in the corner. "This will be yours. Basic rules- don't leave the floor during the day, don't leave the room at night, and if you have any concerns, they go through the senior prisoner of war, Colonel Mitch Shelly."

As if this were their cue, the other ten men in the room finally noticed Robert and greeted him with stories of common suffering the war had brought.

**May 4, 1942  
Aboard the _USS Refuge_**

Tomorrow the _USS Refuge _would be in range of the fighting in North Africa and list itself as an active hospital ship. _1._ Greg Hogan stared at the ceiling above him, wondering just how this could all be real. Just two months ago, his life had been fine. And then, in the course of a week, everything had turned upside down. Suddenly, instead of being just a doctor, he was working on a Navy Ship, ready to heal any mutilated battle patient that might come his way.

The _Refuge_ was a veteran ship with a veteran commander, and sure to be stationed near the thick of the fighting…

Greg threw his pillow to the end of the narrow bunk. He'd become a doctor because he wanted to cure diseases, not fish bullets out of young kids. Hell, he wasn't more than a kid himself.

"You okay, Hogan?" the sleepy voice of his bunkmate, Kevin Parker asked. Before joining the medical team on the _Refuge, _he served on the _USS Klondike _for nearly a year in the war, and had seen about all there was to see.

"I'm fine," Greg said, "Just nervous."

Parker yawned and turned over, his movement shaking the bunk. "You should be. I know I was. It'll pass though. Now, be quiet and let a fellow sleep at 3:30 in the morning, okay?"

Greg rolled onto his back, listening to the familiar hum of the motors, taking them closer to the chaos of the fighting with every passing second.

* * *

_1. Hospital ships: Non-combatant vessels protected by The Hague and Geneva Conventions, they evacuate sick and wounded Army and Navy personnel from combat areas. Painted white and brightly lighted at night, they travel alone, identify themselves to all. The USS Refuge is an actual ship used during WWII and was capable of handing up to 626 patients at one time._


	10. Chapter 10

**May 5, 1942  
Colditz Officer's Camp**

"_Raus! Raus! Schnell!" _

The quiet room around Robert abruptly came to life. The men around him moaned and rolled off their bunks, shivering as their stocking feet touched the bare floor. Robert remained on his stuffed burlap sack that served as a mattress a bit longer. To have roll call was a relief, for it meant a return to military routine, and routine meant that the world hadn't turned upside down, after all.

From the bunk below, the Captain from the night before, Nonamacher, gently prodded the bottom of his mattress. "Hey Hogan! You plan on joining us, or did you find solitary so amusing that you'd like to go back for seconds?"

Robert mumbled something incoherent and propelled himself out into the cool morning air, thinking his lucky stars that he hadn't been shot down during the winter months, provided, of course that they still existed. His luck running the way it had lately, Robert was ready to bargain with anything besides a pompous German to change his streak.

The men around him weren't speaking much, just mindlessly following routine. Robert followed them out of the little room that served as their barracks and through the fortress to a large assembly room where officers of varying rank and nationalities were assembling.

Robert stood in the middle of a mass of weary men , trying to control his temper as the Germans counted them again, and again, and _again. _He reminded himself that this was ten times better than being in solitary or at the Dulag Luft.

It was nearly thirty minutes before the sergeant of the guard announced, "All prisoners her and accounted for!" and then disappeared to let the Kommandant knew that. According to Nonamacher, the Kommandant didn't trouble himself to emerge from his office during roll calls, considering himself above the mundane routine. All this meant to Robert was another ten minutes of standing in formation on an empty stomach.

Finally dismissed, Robert queued up with the rest of the prisoners for a meager soup that was to be considered breakfast. Clutching his bowl, Robert returned to his barracks and ate it slowly, his mind wandering aimlessly.

A young man, no more than twenty, took the seat across from Robert. "I'm Chris Gary, RAF, first lieutenant. And you're Hogan, aren't you?" he asked eagerly. "New here, right?"

Robert raised his eyebrows. "That's me," he said.

"Well…what's going on in the real world? How's the war going? How soon are we going to get out of this hell hole?" The young man's voice rose with each question, as if, now that he had started to ask them, they refused to wait any longer.

"I don't know about you, but I plan on getting out of here tomorrow," Robert responded lightly.

Across the bench, Gary stared in surprise.

Robert smiled in amusement, his spirits not high enough to permit a laugh. "In reality- the war is hanging in a balance right now. The Allies have seriously stalled Axis advance, but that's about all we're managing to do right now. When I was shot down, we were still trying to hold the German lines. Pushing them back is some time off from now."

As Robert spoke, a number of men entered the room and joined the pair at the table to listen to the news. It pained Robert that he had no better tidings to give to these downed fliers, but it would have been crueler to lie and raise false hopes, or to tell them nothing at all.

When he had finished, he led the discussion away from depressing news and towards a lighter topic: baseball. Despite nearly three quarters of the men being British born, they relished in the new conversation and Robert happily told them everything he knew of the 1941 season. By the time he reached the climax of the world series, all thoughts of the war was temporarily driven from everyone's mind.

Later that afternoon while lying on his bunk, Robert found a note stuffed underneath his mattress. It read: _Tonight- barracks 129. _Robert thumbed it with anticipation until the pencil lead smeared. Then he got up and threw it away in the latrine.

**

* * *

**

**May 5, 1942  
Indianapolis, Indiana**

Emma Hogan turned in front of the mirror, admiring the way the slim wedding dress fell from her hips. It seemed as this was the hundredth dress she had tried on in the last month. She would have been content with a nice one they had found several weeks ago, but her mother perused the task of finding the perfect dress with a passion, as if it would make her forget about everything else going on in their lives.

Taking a deep breath, she emerged from the changing room and presented herself to Regina Hogan. Swirling in front of her, Emma asked lightly, "How does it look?"

Tilting her head, Regina studied the image of her daughter. "The skirt is good," she said, "but I'm not so sure about the bodice. It's so…plain."

Emma glanced down at the plain bodice, a wide scoop neck only embellished by a slight embroidery on the right shoulder. "I like it," Emma said, fingering the stitching on the shoulder. "I want plain. This is going to be a plain wedding, remember? Just family and close friends."

"But I want you to look ravishing! War or no war, we're talking about your wedding day! It's one of the most important days of your life!"

"Then perhaps my word should count more than yours. I like this one."

Regina walked around her daughter again, eyeing the offending fabric critically. "I'll admit, it _does _make you look stunning. Simple beauty, that's what it is."

"Good." Emma disappeared back into the dressing room and leaned against the wall, grateful that this part of the shopping trip was over. They had set the date wedding date for early July, to Regina's dismay. A wedding, she said, was something to spend more than four months planning. But then Emma argued that with the war on, one never knew when things could happen, and in light of current events, her mother hadn't said another word.

Ten minutes later they were driving through rush hour traffic. Emma tilted the front passenger seat backwards and started out the window up into the sky. _How can things be so normal, _she wondered. _How is it that my life keeps going as it has for twenty-four years, when Robert and Greg are in situations so drastically different. I don't even know if Robert's still alive, and yet here I am, dress shopping for a wedding. _To Emma, it seemed so cruel that fate could twist things this way.

"Emma? Are you okay, honey?' Regina asked as they pulled into the driveway.

"Yeah- I just need to be alone for awhile and sort things out. I'm sure you understand."

As Emma moved to exit the vehicle, she was stopped by her mother's hand on her arm. "Take all the time you need, dear. I'm going to be right there with you."


	11. Chapter 11

**May 5, 1942  
Colditz Officer's Camp**

Much to Robert's surprise, finding his way down to Barracks 129 after hours wasn't too much of a challenge. He had spent the evening surveying as much of the prison camp as he could to make his evening trip in relative safety.

After this was accomplished, he had spent the day wrestling with his mind. Who had put the note on his bunk and why? Just how smart was he being, breaking rules only days after he had been interned at Colditz? Yet, despite all his misgivings, Robert's desire to be free, to escape from barred windows and guards, prevailed. The horror of this interrogation was never far from his mind, and after seeing the depressed condition of his fellow inmates, Robert knew that an extended time as a captive would drive him to the brink of insanity.

At just past eleven, a full hour after lights out, Robert slipped from his bunk, careful not to disturb his roommate. The man below him shifted slightly, his light snoring interrupted. Robert froze, knowing that if he was discovered on this night outing, chances were high he would be betrayed to the Germans.

Seconds crawled by, and after nearly a minute, Robert decided the man was going to remain in his uneasy sleep. The rest of the room remained undisturbed as he padded by. One man, near the door was crying softly in his sleep at some shy memory. In the dark, Robert estimated the man to be roughly twenty. Had this man experienced all Robert had? Probably not to the extremes, but to be in Colditz, the stranger must be a least a junior officer, which automatically subjugated him a degree of interrogation.

Upon reaching the doorway, Robert paused to check his surroundings, making sure the night guards followed the same pattern he had observed during the day. They did. While Colditz was rumored to be inescapable, the movement inside the fortress was not watched near as close. After all, what did it matter that a few prisoners slipped into other barracks, when it was certain that they couldn't leave the building?

The guard reached the greatest distance away from the doorway he would reach, and Robert slipped into the hallway. Trying his hardest to eliminate all noise, Robert managed to find a shadowy corner to hide in as the guard turned and moved back towards him. So far so good.

It took nearly half an hour of dodging other guards, but Robert eventually managed to make his way undetected to Barracks 129. The man on watch at the door spotted Robert and opened it wide enough to admit him.

Once inside, Robert stared about the room for a few moments in shock. All about, more then a dozen men were working quietly and efficiently on some odd job. The room was dimly lit by a smuggled lantern. When he entered the room, all work ceased.

In the stillness, an older man, who had previously been pouring over a stack of papers, removed himself from the group and approached Robert. He wore the insignia of a colonel.

"Robert Hogan?" he asked gruffly.

"Reporting, sir! "Robert said, saluting.

" Hogan," the strange colonel said, "You're probably wondering about the strange summoning my men and I have done some background checks on you since you arrived at Colditz. I have a couple men who have flown under you in the 504th. Your reputation obviously precedes you, and the men and I have decided to allow you into our trust. Are you interested?"

The decision took no more than a split second. Robert knew his sanity wouldn't survive the war intact as an ordinary prisoner; fighting back stood as the only acceptable alternative. "Absolutely."

The colonel smiled. "Good man, Hogan. I'm Randy Waltz, leader of the Colditz escape committee. We have no current projects on the table, but simply are preparing ourselves for escape as soon as an opportunity presents itself."

"Such as?"

"Forged passes, civilan clothing, papers, secreting rations, anything at all. We have enough desperate men to pull it off. That's not to say we haven't been caught at anything – quite to the contrary. The risks are great, Hogan. I've had many men physically punished being captured, endured isolation cells several times myself, and lost two good men that were 'shot while escaping'."

Robert saw the distance cloud Waltz's eyes. So the krauts, although they hid behind faces of humane wardens, weren't much above the Gestapo. He felt his stomach knot at his train of thought, and hardened himself with it.

"I can accept those risks, sir," Robert said resolutely. "What needs to be done?"

**May 17th**

Routine, Robert decided, was a dangerous thing. A few nights of successfully slipping down from his barracks to meet with the escape crew rendered him careless. The results had nearly led him to discovery. Just four days ago, a guard spotted a crew member in his self-tailored civilian clothing because the prisoner had forgotten to remove it before roll call. Simple events like that alerted Robert to how dangerous the business of subterfuge was in Colditz.

Still, it felt good to be doing something beyond rotting in a prison camp. Perhaps someday his efforts might reward him freedom and a chance to strike back at his captors for all the misery his captivity had wrought on him.

Tonight, he and Captain Paul Jennings shared the mission of retrieving ammunition from the supply room for the smuggled gun. Both knew the perils of such an investigation, and their actions tonight had been plotted for weeks.

Robert stood positioned outside the washrooms, waiting for Jennings's signal. The Captain volunteered to sacrifice himself for the sake of the mission by allowing the supply room guard to catch him out of his barracks after hours. Even if the Kommandant was in a good mood, that alone spelled at least thirty days in solitary. _Make this work, _Robert told himself. _The price is too high to fail._

After his time in Colditz, Robert decided that all the rumors about the fortress were true except one: Colditz was not the worst place a POW could go - that position belonged solely to the Dulag Luft. But the enlisted man's talk about the fortresses strictness and inescapable record held mostly true. Tonight, however, Robert planned to change all that by gaining the escape crew real ammunition and rebuild the committee's hope.

Suddenly, a whistle broke the oppressive silence, and nearby much shouting began. Straining his ears, Robert picked up Jennings's British accent among all the German words. It was time.

Glancing about, Robert reassured himself that all focus lay Jennings. He managed to reach the door to the supply room unmolested. Trying to control his breathing and heart rate, he produced the homemade knife and began to pick the lock. It refused to yield to his frantic attempts.

Robert swore under his breath. _Relax. You can do this. _The shouting match was still continuing, and Robert inwardly thanked the captain for his sacrifice. He removed the blade from the lock and started fresh. This time, luck was with him. The lock slid open and Robert slipped inside the room.

It was dark inside, and he had no idea which shelf might hold the bullets he needed. Panic again threatened to overtake him as glanced about the large room. _Breathe. _He needed to make his search so his presence went unnoticed. Fortunately, his eyes adjusted and it only took him a few moments to locate the correct place. After a moment of scrambling, he found an open container and slipped the necessary bullets under his jacket. He decided it didn't matter if they were hidden well – if he was caught this evening they would be found regardless.

The voices outside were decreasing in volume, and Robert hurriedly departed the supply room, his heart rate falling. He managed to slip back inside the washroom before the guard returned to his usual routine. The play was to wait five minutes before slipping back to his barracks and hiding the bullets.

Nearly two minutes later, when Robert had begun to relax, shouting commenced again outside. Expletives flying through his brain, Robert instinctively knew his deed had been uncovered. The washroom was no longer safe – h e needed to quickly return to his bunk.

With a quick prayer, Robert made a break for his barracks. The confusion would occupy the guards, he told himself. Ten steps. Five. Three.

"Halt!"

Light surrounded him, and Robert raised his arms. Damn.

* * *

**May 17th, 1942  
Hogan Family Home  
Indianapolis, Indiana**

Rodger Hogan stared at the rain pouring down the windowsill, seeming to reflect his mood. Tomorrow was Greg's birthday. His oldest son was turning thirty. It should be a day of celebration, but Rodger knew tomorrow would yield nothing but mournful emotions on the part of all.

Laughter emitted from the next room. Emma, Danny, and Regina sat making plans for the wedding. It seemed like the plans never ended, but Rodger didn't mind. He knew it was their excuse for keeping minds away from the war. And besides, his only daughter needed a wedding fit for a queen.

"Rodger Hogan!" his wife's voice thundered into his thoughts. "I want you in here right now!"

Glad to move on to happier thoughts, even at his expense, Rodger hurriedly obeyed. He found the trio pouring over pictures of various reception halls.

"What is it, dear?" he asked innocently.

Regina glowered at him. "Did you or did you not tell your staff to prepare the office basement for the wedding reception?"

"Well…I…." Rodger wasn't sure what response his wife wanted. Experience told him he would pick the wrong one, regardless.

"Answer the question, Daddy," Emma chimed in sweetly.

Rodger really knew he was in trouble now. No good ever came out of Emma calling him Daddy. "Well….I guess I did." He winced, praying that was the awaited response.

Suddenly, his arms were full of a flurry of cloth that he later recognized as his daughter.

"Daddy, I knew you did! I'm so glad! See, Mom? I told you Daddy had it all taken care of. No details, no fussy arrangements with strangers – just leave it all to him. No worries about the reception."

Rodger blinked. That wasn't what he had meant at all when he had volunteered his basement casually to Danny and his secretary yesterday at work. He'd assume someone else would take care of all the arrangements.

He carefully detangled himself from his daughter. "I'm going to do all the arrangements form the receptions?"

Emma grinned sweetly. "See how eager he is to take part in my wedding, Danny?"

Rodger looked over at his future son-in-law. "What just happened?"

"I'm taking careful notes on how not to get manipulated by my fiancée," Danny said carefully.

At that point, all four of them burst into laughter. It was times like these that Rodger felt blessed to have a family. The laughter made all the tears worth it.

A car pulled into the driveway, the crunch of the tires on the gravel audible to all. Regina frowned. "Who comes calling on a day like this? Were you expecting anyone, Emma dear?"

The younger woman shook her head. Rodger felt a knot from in his stomach as he watched the occupant hurry up to the porch. The man was wearing a postal uniform. The atmosphere immediately tightened. "Rodger," his wife said, "you answer. I can't."

Obediently, Rodger opened the door for the young man. It was as he feared: another telegram had arrived.

He waited until the he had sat down among his family before opening it and reading it aloud.

_Mr. and Mrs. Rodger Hogan,_

_This message is to inform you that we have received word that the status of Colonel Robert E. Hogan has been confirmed. He has been captured by the Axis Powers and is being held as a prisoner of war at Colditz Prison. Contact information will shortly follow._

_Deepest regrets,_

_General Edmond Bevin, Allied High Command_

"He's alive," Emma breathed, lying back on the sofa. "He's really alive."

"And a prisoner of war," Danny added.

Regina put a hand on his shoulder. "But alive, and relatively safe. My prayers went answered."

And then Regina surprised them all by beginning to weep uncontrollably, a mixture of all her emotions that had built up over the past few months. Her tears unlocked the dams within them all. Soon, as they had all been connected by laughter, they were now connected by tears.

* * *

A/N: I am going to try and complete this story now. I foresee no more than a couple weeks to completion. Thank you for your patience. Enjoy! 


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: As some of you may have noticed, my dates on the last couple chapters have been a little off. I have corrected them, but there they are for the record: in chapter 10, the date should be May 5th throughout; in chapter 11, the date should begin with May 5th. Thanks for understanding and keep reviewing!

**May 17th, 1942  
Colditz Officer's Camp  
Office of Kommandant Nullen**

"And you caught him with this after I explicitly told you to watch him closely?" Kommandant Nullen exploded at the guard in front of him.

"But, Herr Kommandant! I was apprehending another prisoner. A very uncooperative one!"

Nullen leaned back in his desk chair and rubbed his temples with his forefingers. "Did it not occur to you that it might have been a diversion?"

The guard visibly shrank. "No, it did not, Herr Kommandant."

"Sergeant Schultz, this is Colditz! Within the walls of this fortress we hold the most experienced escape artists there can be found. Do you know why there are here?"

"No -"

"They are here because my guards are supposed to be intelligent! They are here because we are supposed to be inescapable! But are we? No! The only prisoner of war camp without an escape is Stalag 13! That idiot Kommandant has no right to have that record! But you know why he does? Because I am plagued with guards who wouldn't know an escape if they were doing it themselves!"

Forcibly, Nullen flung his chair unto its front legs again and stared at the extremely uncomfortable guard. A tense silence blanketed the room. And then, like sunrise, a crafty look slid across the Kommandant's face. Schultz squirmed uncomfortably.

"I know what we shall do," Nullen said softly. "Bring in this Colonel Hogan."

* * *

Robert entered the dark office of the Kommandant in apprehension. His fellow prisoners had told him more than enough to know that when Nullen was crossed, no good ever came out of it. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his face stolid.

_Nothing they do here can be worse than the Dulag, _he told himself. _I've faced the worst already._

"Colonel Hogan," Nullen said pleasantly. "I wasn't expecting to have a chat with you quite so soon."

The knot that formed within Robert's stomach tightened. Experience told him that when krauts were happy, the situation was worse. He stared an inch above the Kommandant's head and said nothing.

"You have a most remarkable record, Hogan. Were I your ally, I would respect you above all others."

And then, his face darkened. "But I am not your ally, Hogan. I am your enemy. Time and time again you have crossed me and _my _allies. No longer!"

Silence ensued, and Hogan forced himself to keep off his emotions. The suspense of forthcoming punishment battered at him worse than the actual punishment. What was Nullen dreaming up?

"You have perhaps heard of Stalag 13, Colonel Hogan?"

Stalag 13? He frowned slightly, trying to see if the name had any connotations with it. "No I have not," he replied honestly.

"All the better!" Nullen exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "Sergeant Schultz, perhaps you should be kind enough to fill Hogan in."

The guard's eyes grew wide and Robert could see the wheels in his mind flying, trying to see what answer would be most appropriate. For a moment, Robert pitied him. Having Nullen for an overseer would not be easy.

"Stalag 13 is the toughest POW camp in all of Germany! They have had no escapes since it was founded nearly two years ago."

Nullen smiled pleasantly. "Thank you, Schultz. I believe you forgot something though. Stalag 13 is an enlisted man's camp. No only that, most recently, they have adopted a new Kommandant, as their first was recently assassinated by an underground league. I have heard many stories about him."

The knot in Robert's stomach loosened a bit. He now had an inkling on what was going to happen. "This is all very enlightening, Kommandnat," he said lightly, "but I'm not sure how it applies to me."

"Oh you don't, do you? Well let me make this very clear. I am transferring you to Stalag 13 for the duration of the war. I am effectively putting you out of action. And, not only that, I am sending Sergeant Schultz along as your personal guard. I am putting in a note that if you ever escape, Shultz is to suffer the consequences. Is that enough motivation to watch him very closely, Sergeant?"

The poor guard appeared to be approaching hysteria. "Plenty of motivation, Herr Kommandant."

"Excellent. I will order a truck. Schultz you have ten minutes to gather your belongings. If you desire, you can stop by Hogan's barracks and pick up his things. He will wait here."

Schultz saluted and left hurriedly, tripping on the waste paper basket as he departed. Robert stared at the Kommandant, knowing the severity of his sentence. Despite Schultz's apparently incompetence, even the worst soldier would watch a prisoner with all they had if that prisoner's escape coupled with his execution. Besides, it was hopeful in the extreme to believe that any help lay for him within an enlisted man's camp with the toughest POW Kommandant in all of Germany.

Nullen appeared to be reading his thoughts. "No goodbyes, Hogan. You surrendered everything you had here by your transgressions this evening."

* * *

**May 17th, 1942  
Aboard the _USS Refuge _**

_Dear Mom, Dad, and Emma,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Everything is as fine here as could be expected. The _USS Refuge _has been a combat ship for several weeks now, and as far as I can see, we are not in any immediate danger of coming under enemy fire. We just get to see the results of it._

_I know that I will not be able to distill all your worries about me – didn't you say it was a mother's job to worry? However, rest assured that all is well here. Day to day life ranges from hours of surgery to hours of waiting and finding things to pass the time. My own mind is my worst enemy here. _

_You remain in my thoughts constantly. I want to be there in this exciting time of your lives. How is the wedding progressing, Emma? Have you picked out a dress yet? And Mom- have you finished the quilt for Mrs. Stevenson yet? Dad – did you decide to get that air conditioner this year? It's getting down to crunch time if you want to get it installed before the summer heat kicks in. _

_However, as much as I think about all those things, I think about you and how much I miss you. Not the events, but just being in your company. Seeing all these young kids blown to bits has put that in perspective for me. Life is short, we are mere mortals. Why should we wait on life? _

_Of course, if you have had any word on Robert, send it on as soon as you can. I think of him often as I hear the enemy fire, knowing that he is somewhere back there, behind enemy lines…_

_And I regret I must hastily close. More wounded are coming in, and they desperately need my skills._

_All my love,_

_Greg_

"Are you coming? We've got to be on deck, pronto!" Kevin Parker asked as he headed for the door. All about them, bells were ringing signaling the beginning of another long surgery session.

"Me, miss hours of meatball surgery? How could I skip?" Greg replied, the humor dying on his lips as he slid the letter into his footlocker.

Kevin watched him with concern. "You can't let this get to you. Even if all your patients die or live disabled, the one kid that you cure makes it all worth it. You, Greg Hogan, are the biggest hero you will ever encounter."

The images of bloody, screaming young men fled Greg's mind for a second. Instead, he saw a middle-aged man with a purple heart, bearing the scars of a hasty surgery, but being perfectly healthy. Greg sighed in relief at that. Any respite from his constant duty was more than welcome.

"Thanks, Parker. I needed that."

His roommate smiled at him and they both hurried off to complete their duties. As Greg scrubbed up, he shook his head in disbelief. _The things I do for my country. _


	13. Chapter 13

**May 18th, 1942  
Somewhere in Germany**

Robert Hogan shifted his position, trying to relieve the aching muscles in his backside. Apparently, German trucks were built for durability rather than comfort. He played with the chain that connected his hands together, trying not to focus on what that chain actually meant. It was hard to admit that this time, he had stuck out. The war, for him, was coming to an end.

It was almost funny, if you thought about it. What was his suffering actually doing for the Allied cause? Did the death of a German soldier actually equal more than the fact that one Allied soldier was a good marksman? A country that was good at shooting people didn't make it good at anything else other than shooting people. It didn't mean that it was the superior country in anything else. What happened as a result of the war could have easily been settled before the war, without the millions of dead men and women.

These thoughts were dangerous for career officer in the army. A piece of Robert's mind, far distant, argued that his cause was very important and the only way Germany would ever back down was through war. However, sitting on a rough bench with a long war of suffering and degradation stretching out before him, Robert found them hard to fight off.

The only good thing about the entire situation was that the guard – Schultz – sitting across from him looked even more miserable. If the bench was hard for Robert, it was triply so for Schultz. The man's massive bulk could barely wedge on the seat. Robert almost felt sorry for him; after all, he was just a man doing his job. He didn't even seem _too _angry at Robert for his transfer. Admittedly, he held his rifle a little to close at hand for Robert's comfort, but the colonel felt if it was kill or be killed, he too would rather do the killing.

The truck hit a particularly large ditch in the road, and Robert, unable to brace himself, tumbled off the seat and unto the hard floor. His elbow took the brunt of his weight, and he winced in pain.

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz cried, his paranoia coming through. "What are you doing?"

Robert grunted, and sat up. "Testing the durability of the floor. You know German trucks these days, always trying to cut corners. I can now rest assured that the floor will not collapse beneath us."

Schultz blinked, surprised. "I know what you mean. Everything is being rationed these days, and nothing is the quality of what it was. Why just the other day – " Suddenly, the guard realized what he was saying and clamped a pudgy hand to his mouth.

Robert cracked a smile, wonder at the extent of the guard's gullibility. He hadn't meant for his remark to be taken at face value. It was refreshing to be reminded that not all Germans were members of the SS or crewed places like the Dulag Luft.

Instantly, Robert switched the direction of his thoughts. "Is Stalag 13 really as bad as Kommandant Nullen claimed it was?" he asked.

The face of the guard paled. "Yes it is. And not just for you. They have not had any escapes there! A friend of mine works there, Leon Meier works there and said that the old Kommandant came down on them very hard!"

Robert sighed. If the camp was a bad as Schultz was making it out to be, now was the time to get in with the guards. "I'm sorry I dragged you along with me."

His companion shrugged. "Things were not so cold at Colditz either. It was bound to happen. You could make it up to me by not causing me any trouble at Stalag 13."

"I won't do it on your watch."

"That's not good enough! You heard what the Kommandant said! What you do reflects what happens to me! It's on my record!" Pure panic filled the guard's voice.

Frowning, Robert considered the situation. "How is the Kommandant getting your record, Schultz?"

"The driver has it. He has all my information, as well as yours."

"But you give it the Kommandant, right?"

It was almost comical, watching Schutlz try to grasp the idea that Robert was throwing out. "Yes, I give it to him."

"Then why don't you pull out that little page and alter it before it is seen?"

Schultz's eyes widened until it looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. "I can't do that! It if was found out, it would be worth my life!"

"It might be worth your life to get it off your record," Robert explained.

"That is true. If I do this thing, you must promise not to tell anyone!"

Robert smiled craftily. "Of course. It's to my advantage as well. Why would I tell?"

At that point, the truck slowed considerably, and entered the compound of Stalag 13. Both guard and prisoner took a moment to compose themselves. Then, Schultz threw back the tarp and they both entered the compound.

**Stalag 13  
Office of Kommandant Klink**

The Iron Eagle of Stalag 13 paced back and forth in his office, checking out his window every thirty seconds for the arrival of the truck that would bring a guard and a very important prisoner. General Burkhalter himself had called to impress upon him how important this Colonel Hogan was to Germany.

Klink knew what he was up against: a cunning, willful man, an escape artist, and an all around rude, uncultured American. Three months into his control of the prison camp, Klink was still riding on the reputation of the old Kommandant. Unfortunately, the no escapes record protected him as well as threatened him. Today, the record he loved to flaunt was bringing him one of the most dangerous men in Germany.

The door to his office opened and his Secretary, Helga entered. "The truck with the prisoner has just arrived. They will be in to see you shortly."

Klink dismissed her and flew to the window. How had he missed the arrival? He watched as his new sergeant exited the truck and gave a groan. This guard was to be the highest ranking guard he had, and he looked to be over 300 pounds.

Shortly after the guard dismounted, Klink saw what he was really looking for: the American prisoner. He held his head high and stood proudly in the center of the compound, looking around at his new environment. Then, after the guard finished speaking with the driver, the pair proceeded to make their way to his office.

Klink felt a knot grow in the pit of his stomach and prayed to every god he'd ever heard of that the war was going be over soon.

**Compound of Stalag 13**

Robert watched, trying to laugh, as Schultz attempted to subtly browse through the files containing his records. After a good minute of "covertly" flipping through papers, the guard found the one he was looking for.

"I found it, Colonel Hogan. What should I do with it?"

Shaking his head, Robert replied, "I can't very well keep it. I'm sure I'm going to be searched. You, however, won't be. Just stick it in your pockets and burn it the first chance you get."

"You have such good ideas, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said, stuffing the paper inside his uniform.

At that moment, there was a slight scuffle in the compound, and a bunch of prisoners came running up, trying to see the new arrivals. Robert composed his face for their benefit, smiling slightly at them. They looked so young – far too young to be in a prisoner of war camp. These men were now to be under his command.

Suddenly, one particular prisoner caught his eye. In them middle of the crowd, with an astonished look on his face was none other than Peter Newkirk. Over the commotion, Robert heard his voice proclaim in its bold Cockney accent, "Welcome to Stalag 13, Colonel Hogan!"

Robert nodded in his direction, his spirits rising several notches. It was good to see that Newkirk, at least, had survived that last flight. He felt Schultz take his elbow. "Inside now, Colonel Hogan."

As they entered the office of the Kommandant, Robert saw another good thing about the camp: it included a very pretty secretary. She looked up from her work, but did not meet Robert's eye. And then, before Robert was quite ready for it, they brushed past the beautiful woman and went to meet her superior.

The door of the office read "Kommandant Klink" and the said man was waiting for them. "Sergeant Shultz, Colonel Hogan, please come in. I have been expecting you. Welcome to Stalag 13."

* * *

**July 7th, 1942  
Hogan Family Home**

Emma Hogan stared at reflection in the mirror, feeling giddy and excited. She agreed with her mother, her wedding dress made her look like a vision. Today everything in her life was going to change.

"Emma? Are you ready yet?" Regina called from downstairs. Emma looked herself over one more time, assuring herself that everything was perfect.

"I'm coming, Mom."

She walked down the stairs, her heels clattering out their own form of music. It seemed as they, too, were celebrating her marriage. Regina and Rodger both stood waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, smiling up at her.

"I told myself I wouldn't hug you – I didn't want to mess up your dress just yet," Regina said, taking her hand and looking her up and down. "But I didn't know it was going to be this hard!"

The three of them laughed. Rodger held open the door for his daughter. Emma walked into the warm summer air and let out a gasp. "Mom, Dad, you didn't!"

In front of the Hogan home stood a sparkling limousine. Rodger laughed again. "No expense spared, darling. My daughter only gets married once."

Ten minutes later, the party arrived at the city park that was holding the wedding. This was a sore point for Regina, but eventually Emma and Danny convinced her it would be much nicer for everyone involved to hold the wedding someplace other than a traditional church. The weather couldn't be nicer, and Emma could tell her mother was glad she had agreed to an outdoor ceremony.

All too soon, the moment she had planned for months was rushing past. Emma felt an urge to cry in happiness as she walked towards Danny on the arm of her father. She had no doubts: her wedding was one certain thing in all the chaos of wartime.

She held Danny's hand and listened as the words of the Reverend Sprig washed over her. Nothing was to spoil her happiness today. This was perfection.

**After the Reception**

"Well, Mrs. Emma Richards, do you have any regrets?" Danny asked his wife as the last of the guests departed, leaving only the couple and their parents.

Emma reflected seriously. "Today was perfect," she said. "Not as I imagined it, but perfect all the same. Only…that perfection is eating at me. I feel like my happiness is such a crime, when there are so many others that are suffering."

"It's not a crime to be happy, Emma," Danny soothed her, taking her into his arms. He looked over his shoulder and caught the eyes of Regina, begging her for help.

"I'm with you, dear," Regina said, understanding Danny's message. "It's not betrayal. I know…no, listen, I know that your brothers would want us to find some happiness. Greg even told us to go full steam ahead into the wedding."

Danny stared down at his new wife, building off of his mother-in-law's words. "Remember, they are fighting to give us the right to celebrate today. Being happy is the ultimate way of thanking them for their sacrifices. We are the stability they are fighting for."

Rodger Hogan picked up his glass of champagne for one last toast. "To our heroes, that bought today's perfection with their lives."

The group found their glasses and repeated his words with reverence. "To our heroes."

* * *

A/N: This completes this particular story with the Hogan family, although I might make some small changes/fixes. I might come back and continue the story of the Hogan family at a later date, but this is a good stopping place. I want to thank everyone who has given me feedback and helped me grow as a writer. I hope you enjoyed the story! 


End file.
